Homo ex Machina
by Hajnelka
Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you, as a former military medic, had to get used to a new way of living in the famous Motor City. The year is 2040, The Android Revolution was successful, as is your career with the DPD as a doctor-android technician and detective. On a cold November afternoon a strange case of Homicide comes in, you getting into it by accident.
1. Chapter 1 - Pilot

Tea. One of the most heavenly beverages here on Earth, right after a gin-tonic. The dark, steamy brew warmed your hands as you cupped your mug, inhaling the lovely scent that came out of it, watching as the milk swirled with the auburn of the tea, like a white mist, developing into the depths of the porcelain vessel, mixing into something that was truly above this world. The humming of the LED lights above you, the constant chattering and office noises all fainted, and there was only you, and the cuppa. The first sip sent shivers down your spine, as it repelled the bite of the November chill, warming both body and soul, making you forget all ill thoughts that plagued your mind, which, there was plenty.

The creaking of your „office`s" glass door brought you back to reality, as the source of said ill thoughts came in with an escort. „Okay, Laurent. You made this mess, now clean it up. When you finish, meet me in my office, stat." Captain Fowler's baritone voice demanded your attention, completely dispelling the island of peace that tea had created for you. Reed had it coming, he _did_ punch another detective in the stomach… You admitted, that losing your cool like that was quite unladylike, but then, everybody can have rougher days, he just managed to get into the crossfire, per say. Gavin snickered underneath the ice bag he held onto his nose, having a satisfied grin on him. „Yes, sir. See you in a bit." Fowler, acknowledging your response with a quick nod, left the infirmary, leaving you, and Deputy Dipshit alone.

„Sit down to the chair next to my desk, please." That please was there as a mere formality, your request was more than an order, rather. Without a word, Gavin sat down with a dull thump, the faux leather pillow of the patients` chair let out a long, and tired hiss. „It seems Her Majesty is in a good mood now, I won't be executed" He chuckled on his own joke, while he removed the icepack, and sloched it into the sink.

His nose swelled up quite much, moderate spots of violet and crimson adored his skin. Not paying attention to his mediocre at best joke, you gathered some gauze, band aids, and the _Field-doctor_, a scanner, designed for military. „Hold still." You commanded, switching up into professional mode, scanning his nose, checking if you managed to _actually_ break something, which, you lowkey hoped for. There wasn't much, though, just bruises, and the trauma of blood vessels. Shame. Tossing the scanner aside to the table, you put on a pair of the signature white latex gloves, and started disinfecting his minor scars. Gavin was silent, besides a few hissing here and there. Your hands worked efficiently, and within five minutes, Detective Reed was all patched up.

„You know, it is kinda satisfying, that you hit me, and now you were the one who had to do first-aid."

You let out a sigh, „Trust me, Reed, if it wasn't for my Oath, and Fowler's orders I wouldn't have touched you with a finger."

„Awn, don't be such a meanie. I thought British people are the kindest in the world."

You didn't even answer that snarry comment, instead, you tossed a box of _ibuprofen_ to Gavin. „Take one, if you`re in pain, but keep at least 4 hours between the doses. Not suggesting alcohol consumption either for a week or so. "

„Yes, ma'am. " With a sly grin on his face, Gavin quickly waltzed out of the infirmary, disappearing in the precinct`s lounge. You took a big sip of tea, binned the gloves and left for the big boss' office.

The only thing that`s worse than cold tea, is the dissapointment that nested itself in Fowler`s deep chocolate eyes: he was holding a document when you stepped into his office. With a quick gesture of his hand, he offered you to sit, which you took without hesitation. The chair was unconfortable, mostly plastic, and creaked with the smallest movement, unlike his broad, leather covered office chair. Fowler was awfully quiet, so your inner detective reached out to the surface, observing the area.

His desk was rather spartan, save for a framed family photo, a drawing from propably the little girl you saw on the picture, his daughter and a „Go get`em Tiger!" mug. Several caffeine residue rings were visible from your seat, maybe he wasn`t keen on doing the dishes? A half munched Snickers bar, that was hidden under a folder, with the tag Lt. Amelia Elisabeth Laurent MD on it, your name. Blue light glinted off the tactical knife which rested atop its wooden stand, a Secret Santa gift from you, last Christmas.

„You see, Amelia, this is the first and I hope last page of dislipinary report I have to put into your folder. Care to explain what made you hit Reed?" The Captain`s voice was calm, a bit coarse. He needs another source of liquid than just coffee- no water bottles or similar were in the room. You made a quick mental note to remind him, before answering.

„He hit Detective Anderson in the stomach, sir. I know, that he can`t really feel it, but the military instincs kicked in, and my body reacted on its own. It would also hinder Lieutenant Anderson`s progress with his case, if his partner were to leave for a day or two, so I had to stop Detective Reed `s aggressive behavior."

Fowler`s mouth formed a flat line - he didn`t fully buy it, so it seems, but saw merit in your words. Pretty much you were telling the truth, the years of training and service left its mark on you, but the fact that you were quite annoyed today, made you a bit more fiery.

„You know, that it can be easily repaired, unlike Reed, who needs a good couple of weeks recovering from that broken nose."

„With all due respect sir, his nose was not broken, just bruised. I gave him the appropriate treatment, and within a week, you won`t even see traces of it." A subtle upcurl of your lips, and Fowler nodded in understanding. He doesn`t have the ability to doubt your medical prowess, so this was a small one, but a victory nonetheless.

The Captain let out a huff, put the sheet of paper into your folder, and closed it. „Write a report of his injury and send it over, so I can attach it to the file. For this week, you are to do infirmary only. And check on the Android, repair any issues it might have. Now, that this was dealt with..." he grabbed his mug, tossed the folder onto a stack on his desk, and opened the door for you. „Have a nice day, doctor."

Without the word, you left the Captain`s office, trotted down a couple of stairs, straight to the lounge. It was rather lively, being it almost twelve, and with it, lunchtime. The smell of KFC and other takeaways lingered in the air, making your stomach churn in hunger. Those crumpets you had at eight in the morning were starting to wear off. You fancied a nice chicken burger for a couple of days now, so with a sharp turn, you walked towards your mentor`s and best friend`s desk. There were no cubicles in the lounge, but pairs of desks – a fresh idea in design, so the staff wouldn`t feel isolated from one another, especially partners. A handful of officers were busy at working on their terminal, others were chilling out in the little break room, standing in a circle around the coffee machine, or they munched near the snackbar, which was pretty much a glorified tall basket.

Thankfully the Android storage unit was removed shortly after the Revolution, as a means for the non-human police forces to integrate with the others. It did work though, the numbered docking stations looked creepy and it gave that side of the lounge an eerie feeling, the biggest symbol segregation in the precinct.

The infirmary got a massive, and a quite expensive upgrade, so you and your assistants could tend to the damaged Androids of the Law. A constant supply of _Thirium_, blue blood, as everybody called it, shipped every Monday, boxes of biocomponents in the storage room, _Chrome-Vanadium_ state of the art repair tools, anatomy posters for both humans and Androids, manuals, atlases, everything that was necessary for the infirmary to function to its potential, not giving you distadvantage by not having the appropriate equipment. All of this Cyberlife tech mixed into a strange concoction with the human medical supplies, and when the workers finally finished the new addition, the Androids started to believe that change _is_ happening, and this is not a just a mere dream. That being said, you had to undergo a half-year long training on Android-repair, which wasn`t a cake walk, but nothing compared to Colbridge Medical.

You nodded to a few officers to greet them, having small talk here and there, but eventually you reached the (in)famously grumpy detective`s desk. It was a rare sight, seeing Hank in the precinct this early, at least by his standards, however, the headphones, emitting power metal melodies, an empty box of doughnuts, and the bags underneath his eyes, the uncombed grey hair confirmed the suspicion that he was here against his will. The desk next to his was empty, in both decoration and ownerwise, so the culprit most likely fled the scene.

As you got closer, Hank noticed you, and took the headphones off, the chorus of _Blessed_ _and Possessed _leaking out. „Rough night?" you asked with a bit of amusement in your voice, as you sat onto the corner of his desk.

„That`s a light way of putting it. First he takes away my booze, then my beef, and now, sleep." Hank grumbles, he was clearly more annoyed than you were. His posture was of a lonky teenager, getting used to their quickly gained height, another thing that his partner would scold him for, and pointing it out to Hank when he`s complaining about back pains. „Connor makes me eat healthy stuff, like broccoli and cabbage! I do _not_ eat cabbage! What am I, a goat? And he`s like, if I want to be productive, I have to be on time, and wake up early, and other crap!" You let out a small chuckle, patting him on the back.

„Poor lad. He just cares for you, in his unique way. At least he gave you doughnuts. Jammies?" You asked, as you took the empty box, and threw it into the bin. It was filled to the brim, which you failed to notice and the box slided off to the ground. Thankfully, it didn`t open in the process, so all the sugar grains remained in there. A sudden craving of custardy doughnuts got you, but you shussed the feeling away.

„Yeah. Lucky me. They keep my sanity intact. Heard some birds chirping around. Did you really break Reed`s nose?" Hank`s eyes lighted up, like he was almost proud.

„Nah, didn`t hit hard enough. Just a bruise, but it`ll chip down some of his ego, I recon. He wanted to pick a fight with Connor, by ordering him around, and when it didn`t work out, he hit him in the stomach. He didn`t expect Connor`s frame to be that hard, and that my response will be a right hook."

„Ah, shame. At least he knows now not to mess with either you, or Connor." A few moments of silence passed. „ I appreciate it that you stood up for him, kiddo."

„Don`t mention it, I did what I had to." You sent a warm smile to Hank, and he responded with a nod. The partnership with Connor, and his newfound deviancy managed to crack that hard ice around Hank`s heart: he says „thank you" more easily than before, which was absolutely lovely. Maybe he _did_ find a son in Connor`s person, and Hank`s fatherly instincts kicked in again. Propably that`s the reason why he let Connor take up his last name to go with the rank of Detective, as the new laws came in to practice in December 2039, a bit more than a year after the Revolution. „It`ll make you feel more human. " Hank said before his promotion ceremony, as he handed Connor the official papers in an ivory-coloured envelope. However tough he wants to seem like it, the old bugger is a sweet and loving person.

„Since it`s five past, would you like to grab some lunch? My stomach demands food, and the place we`ve last been to had lovely chicken burgers. It is kinda shifty, mind you, but the food was divine there. Could go there, I know it`s your favourite."

„_Chicken feed_? Yeah, it`s a great. But I have to say no this time, however much it pains to do so. See?" Hank shows up a half-opaque green _Tupperware_ box with homemade burritos. You could smell the sweet chili through the cover. „I have lunch, but if you`d like, I`ll phone up Gary and ask him to make something nice for the Lady Doctor. He also does delivery now, did you know?"

„Thank you, but`s not the same without you or Connor." You pouted.

„I would to go, but Connor says I should really cut back on calories. He is right, the bastard, but, say what? He has to go back to CyberLife next Wednesday for the quarter-year ability check, and usually he stays at Belle Island for a day. We could sneak off to have a southern fried chicken sandwich with some strawberry milkshake."

„Are you planning to deviate, Lieutenant? Count me in!" You let out a lighthearted laugh and Hank followed suit. Neither of you noticed Connor approaching.

„Deviation? Seems like a job for me." He opened up a pack of 330 mil _Thirium_, and started to drink it with a metal straw as he sat down, slightly tilting the chair backwards.

„Hey, Connor. You okay?" You asked, as you turned, facing him.

„All systems fully operational. As for my frame, it didn't receive any damage from Detective Reed's punch." He said with a flat tone.

„I'm glad. That guy has more bark than actual bite. At least I don't have to worry about not messing up the repairs on your pump. Having the usual refill, I see?" You got off from Hank's desk, and stepped to Connor's desk.

„Yes. During the last misson, a bullet grazed my left forearm, nothing serious. I didn't lose much, but then, I needed another portion in my system."

„If you ever need a bit of fixing, you know where to find me. Ah, I should head off, before Fowler yells my head off again. See you in a bit, guys!" You waved them with your back turned, and carried walking back to your little, but high-tech realm.

The next couple of hours passed slowly. After a BLT you had for lunch, there was nothing much to do in the infirmary, so you tinkered with the already damaged, but not used biocomponents, this time, with a leg's skin module and programming. Lines after lines of code, white stars on a vast charcoal, lightless sky of the console. The radio hummed some classics and top hits from the 2020s, one of your assistants carefully humming a few of them while doing the stock check and ordering.

Connor stopped by to say hello with a cup of mocha before leaving with the Lieutenant. It made you happy but sad at the same time: his gestures, and kind thoughs like bringing in coffee made you remember another friend like him, who was your partner, yes, but a friend and guardian at the same time, up until that fateful mission.

You still remember the metallic taste in your mouth after shit hit the fan, as you both tried to flee the research centre you were sent to investigate. He didn't need to breathe, but you felt his despair for oxygen, his fear for your fragile life and body. His trust, as he ushered you onto the evac ship, with his very essence in your hands, tiny compared to the cerulean manifestation of him. _Ash_... it's been a couple of years, but you still remember every moment as if they happened yesterday, and the pain of losing him still panged at your heart. Part of you was missing, and there is nothing to fill it, just an empty void, gnawing at your happiness and will to live.

Having lost the interest in the coding of the skin shader, you walked up to your working desk, pulled out the second drawer from the bottom, and took out your trusty throwing knife. The kunai twirled in your hand as you played with it, spinning it around using the embedded ring on its pommel, and with a sudden thought, you threw the knife at the long unused darts table, hitting bullseye. When you heard the impact, you closed your eyes, and let your mind wander around in the darkness.

Despite having your eyes closed, you felt pulses coming out from the knife on the beat of seconds, getting bigger and bigger as time passed, like tiny waterdrops disturbing the surface of a lake, leaving ripples at their wake. First you saw the outline of the three assistants who were in the stockroom, their heartbeat strong and steady. Then you felt the twenty-five people in the lounge, another three outlines behind the reception desk, but no heartbeat there – the ST300 models. Six civilans waited in the lobby, while two guards at the entrance, and another three next to the checkpoint were watching over them.

You tilted your head to the right this time, and you „saw" Captain Fowler in his office, with a bit faster pulse, the coffee finally having an effect on him. Out of the three temporary holding cells just one was occupied, a really anxoius perp being held there. His outline was pure crimson, while the others' were a solid orange. Old memories flooded back, as your team, the Lords of Fire ambused camps of mercenaries, as silent, but equally deadly as owls snatching their prey…

The train of nostalgia was disturbed by the first few notes of your ringtone of the comm, _Hail to the King. _That song was your all time favourite, but at that moment it couldn't have been more annoying. With a swift motion you answered the call, while walking towards the darts table, pulling the high-tech kunai from the red circle.

„Dr. Laurent speaking. Oh. I'm listening…" a little bit of silence fell, as Fowler explained the situation. „But he has Connor there. Oh, I see…As you wish, sir. I shall depart immediately." He hung up, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You quickly dismissed your girlish joy of not being „grounded" to the infirmary, as you packed the classical brown leather bag with a silver and gold Caduceus symbol adording its surface. Gloves? Check. Stethoscope? Not really essential, but check. Evidence bags, and other miscellaneous stuff? Ditto.

Within five minutes, your grey woolen coat was swishing behind, as you walked with haste, the black Bowler hat and scarlet scarf protecting you from the Michigan winter, as you left the police station, to the parking lot, driving out to the rough streets of Detroit. This call was another chance to fight criminals and protect lives with the wand of Hermes, a brand new case, in dire need of justice. The snow covered the Motor City, as a gentle mother, trying to ease the distress of her child. Little did she know, that case of homicide was just the beginning…


	2. Chapter 2 - Premonition

As you drove down the streets of Detroit, the pristine specks of snow transformed into white streaks, giving the feeling of driving at FTL speed, same as your father, as he brought you to the kindergarten, back in the day. This time however, not your fellow classmates greeted you on site, but the numerous police officers, CSI agents and of course, the media.

They were like hyenas, smelling the corpse from miles away, and when they get there, they chew every piece of meat off, until there`s nothing left but the bare skeleton. The countless bright flashes made you anxious, reminding you so much of the flashbangs and other battlefield explosives, triggering the flight or fight mechanism. As you walked the short distance from the Hanover Building`s parking lot to its entrance, you managed to supress the feeling, and stepped into the skyscraper's massive reception.

Black marble floor tiles, white alabaster spiral columns, frescos on the wall, intricate golden masonry-wines running all over them. Everything yelled "expensive rent" there, making your eyebrows arch up. Who would dare to kill a person here? A high-leagued assassin most likely or maybe a lover. When it comes to domestic homicide, the killer is usually the victim`s spouse, as the countless closed cases confirmed. The line of thought crossed your mind, but you left it as it is, since you haven`t seen the crime scene yet.

As you looked around, you noticed more and more security cameras, as well as guards with small firearms, like Glocks or 9mms. The place wasn`t as secure as Fort Knox or Steel Mountain, but it still gave you the feeling that you were in a bastion disguised as a castle, rather than a place to live, however, you still kept the assassin theory amongst the cards in your hand.

Some reporters were aggressive, blocking your way to the elevator, but a couple of familiar policemen, Officer Miller and Smith managed to pry them off you, as they bombarded you with endless questions. You barely got there, how would you know anything? A couple of seconds after you pressed the Up button, the golden doors of said elevator opened up, flying you straight to the 57th floor.

The door to Apartment 589 was open, an LED Police ribbon marking the crime scene. CSI personnel were walking in and out in their silver hazmat suits, while Ben Collins, an elder detective you saw this morning in the precinct, was talking to the neighbours, the possible witnesses to the case. The corridor to the flats wasn`t as luxurious as the ground floor was, but it was still on the higher end of the scale.

The inside of 589 was quite spacious – a living room of at least a hundred square metres, with several other doors, leading to the rest of the flat`s rooms. Beautiful and relatively brand new minimalistic furniture, the gloss on the dark leather sofa was still bright and unscratched, same as the glass coffee table, or the stainless steel fireplace right in front of them. Mahogany ship floor tiles in a fishbone pattern with a strong beeswax scent, a couple of white Persian rugs below the sitting amenities. From the ceiling a crystal chandelier shed its light, giving the whole place a warm atmosphere, if it weren't for the crime scene in it.

A lone rope was hanging from one of the naked support beams, as bone white as the face of the victim. A wooden chair tossed to the side, laying on its side. "Hey, doc. What brings you here?" Hank asked, as he walked over to you.

"Hello. Fowler said the Coroner can`t make it now, because he is examining another homicide case in the Jefferson Corridor, so I`m his temporary replacement pretty much. I do not see the point, though, since Robocop can pretty much do the same as I, but the Captain insisted to have a human expert on site. So, what do we have here?" You hung up your coat to the empty coat rack, and put on a pair of latex gloves. Cleaning a woollen winter coat was worse than getting a wine splatter out from silk…

"Victim`s a female, mid-twenties, died from suicide by hanging. No signs of a break-in, everything seems in order, besides our poor Jane Doe here, and a broken mirror in the bathroom. We couldn`t get in the bedroom, the CSI guys didn`t let me break the damn lock. The floor`s Android-maid found the body almost an hour ago." You knelt down to the girl, her stormy blue eyes dull, lifeless. Throughout the years of service, the sight of a dead person still made you melancholic, so with a gentle sweep of fingertips, you closed her eyes for the eternal slumber.

"Did Connor get a profile on her?" You asked, as you began examining her neck. The pattern of the manila rope was clearly visible, purple, triple-braided spots ran in a circle around her fragile neck, confirming the cause of death by suffocation. She wore graphite-grey lounge pants with a royal blue baggy CyberLife t-shirt, a faint orange smell and something else, maybe lavender lingered in the air around her. Hm, strange. Bad mental health while working for a multi-billionaire company was not new under the Sun, sadly. Poor lass… "Any fingerprints on the rope or the chair, besides hers?"

"No, nothing, which is why I don`t believe this was a simple suicide. She also didn`t have a purse or any money for the matter, nor official papers. She`s a ghost. "

"She must have had something that would give us a name, because you do not rent a house as this fancy, if you`re a simple nobody. Do you think she might`ve been a CyberLife employee? It would explain the corporate t-shirt. That or she is just a tech-enthusiast. What about the flat`s contract?" Her head had no visible injuries, besides a blueish bruise-looking spot on her right temple. Her teeth were as pristine as the flat itself, no fillings or cavities, not even plaque. Why would you wash your teeth, if you`re going to commit suicide right after?

"It was under the name of Michael Bedford. Connor checked the attached ID card and number; however, it turned out to be fake. The date of moving in was the 10th of June, 2040. Mr. Andrews, the director confirmed this a couple of minutes ago, before you came in. Connor is currently getting a statement from him, as we speak." He let out a sigh. " I don`t know Amelia, something smells really fishy in here." Hank murmured.

"Yeah… Well, it`s November now, so the neighbours had plenty of time to meet her. Maybe Ben will get something useful. Oh, what`s this? Look!" Her knuckles were cut on numerous places; the blood barely congealed. Her right fingertips were covered in almost the same shade of blue as her temple was, which at a second glance, didn`t seem like a bruise, more like a patch of ink or paint. "It seems Jane was in a fighty mood before she died."

"Those cuts could be from the broken mirror in the bathroom actually. Connor found blood on some of the fragments. "

"Makes sense. It doesn`t explain the ink on her right temple and fingertips though. Lemme see the bathroom then." You got up, and walked to the aforementioned part of the flat.

The minimalistic style was here as well. Besides a white vanity and the bright blue wall tiles, there was little to no decoration. A bathtub was in the upper right corner, filled midway with orange and lavender scented water, the foam on top almost disappeared. As Hank mentioned, the broad mirror of the vanity was damaged, a big chunk of it was broken, and rested on the floor tiles and in the sink, along with a used blue whiteboard marker. What looked like a small, fist-sized indentation was embedded in the wall paint. You measured up your own next to it, and figured out that most likely Jane shattered the mirror with her bare hands, probably after she got out from the bath – the mat was still damp. What did she see that she didn`t like? And why was the marker there?

Without a word, you got up, and left for the bedroom. The oaken door was closed, as Hank said earlier, but you didn`t fret – taking a bobby pin out from your hairdo, you picked the lock in a couple of minutes.

"I never thought a girl as innocent as you could do this." Hank chuckled.

"When you grow up in a manor with a lot of closed doors and a burning curiosity, you pick up a skill or two. And I`m not that innocent as my looks suggest." You said with a smile, as you stood up, and put the bobby pin back to your messy bun.

As you opened the door, the smile froze off from both yours and Hank`s face: the room was dimly lit, but you could still see that "rA9" was written all over the walls, some smaller, some bigger, like a wicked mantra with different coloured markers. Blue, red, black, green… all of them were left on the ground, capless, along with empty Thirium bottles and bags.

You walked up to the window and drew the curtains to the side, so everybody can have a better look around with the sunlight in, an act which the CSI agents were grateful for. As you and Hank examined the room, they were busy taking photos of every single detail and possible evidence. A king sized bed was placed between two nightstands, everything covered in a layer of dust, except a damp dark blue bath towel. The bedding wasn`t used, unlike the human sized box on top of the bed, a standard shipping box for an AP700, a household-type Android. Several marks of wear and tear were visible, somebody, Jane Doe most likely, put a pillow there, along with a thin polar blanket.

"What in Hell`s name is this?" Hank`s voice echoed in the room leaving you all in silence, save for your thoughts.


End file.
